


lady, i swear by all flowers

by seventhstar



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Asexual Character, Elemental Magic, Empress Rio, F/F, Forced Kissing, Gardener Kotori, Gardens & Gardening, Homoromantic, Language of Flowers, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, there was a young gardener, who worked in the Royal Garden, and an Empress, who stood on the balcony and watched her work...and then one day the Empress came down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. white lilac

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rangerhitomi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/gifts).



> This is my first attempt at writing asexual characters, so bear with me, please, and point out any mistakes I make.

Mornings start silently.

Soon, her maids will come in, and they will bathe her, dress her, paint her. She will lay the crown on her forehead while beds are made and the fire is put out and the palace bursts awake, noise and bustle in every hall. The moment her bedroom door opens, the knock on the door only a formality, the empress is present.

But in the silence just before, Rio looks down at her private garden from her balcony, and is herself alone.

The Empress of the Poseidon Lands has everything. But Rio finds that slowly, terribly, she is losing all the things she loved.

She casts one last look at the garden down below. A Royal Garden is traditional, so she can have her own supply of fresh bouquets, and hairpieces, and ornaments. Rio had maintained it herself, once, but now such things are below her. One of the head gardener's girls now maintains it instead.

Rio doesn’t even know who.

There are footsteps in the hall. She steps back into the room and draws the curtains. Below her the roses are blooming.

They never do smell the same, once they’ve been plucked.

+++++

The night before her father died, he disowned Ryoga.

Rio pretends not to know why. She pretended to her father’s face and wept when he told her the throne was hers. She pretended to her mother’s when she told Rio that she would only be burdened with the throne until she found a husband. She pretended to Ryoga’s, when he came to say goodbye in the dead of night, before fleeing the castle.

And then she is alone. They are putting the crown on her head; they are saying may she live forever; she can stop pretending, but who is there to see?

Those were dark days, but Ryoga came back, and now Rio simply pretends the order for his exile doesn’t exist. She needs him. He’s the only person in the world who remembers what she really looks like.

She is always impatient to see him, even when she knows he’s not bringing good news.

“Your Imperial Highness --” A servant tries to announce Ryoga, but he strides past them into the room, arms crossed. He is insulting: he doesn’t bother to bow, and he’s still armed. He’s still in his leathers, too, and he’s scowling.

She can’t blame him. For once, she knows how he feels. She hasn’t exactly been looking forward to the news she knows he’s bringing.

“Your guards are useless.”

“I told them not to throw away their lives trying to arrest you.”

“Tch. And they listened?”

A few of the guards look offended.

The throne room is the seat of her power. Here Rio holds court, presides over disputes, is presented with visitors ally and enemy alike. She is wearing a white gown and her crown jewels, and against the gold throne she is at her most imperial. Here, Rio ceases to be, and some nebulous force called the Empress takes over.

She sees most people here, but she won’t see her brother. What he has to say is probably unfit for royal ears.

Rio rises from the throne. Ryoga offers her his arm.

“Come,” she says, and she lets him lead her away, waving off the guards when they try to follow too closely. It’s not as if she is helpless, and Ryoga is right there, and formidable in his own right. They wade through the crowded halls. She can hear the whispers; the fallen prince has come home once more.

She lets Ryoga take her out into the Royal Garden. The guards know their place; they stay by the castle and give them their privacy.

Now she can really look at him.

The circles under his eyes are dark, but he looks more alive than usual somehow. He’s still got the dust of travel on his clothes. The hilt of his blade is a little dented. Somewhere on his last journey he pierced his ears.

What a pair they make -- the disgrace who looks more like a bandit than a prince, and the Empress in a perfect white gown, the fabric cut close to her body, her gems sparkling. And yet Ryoga is still wearing a signet ring with the family crest, and there is freshly turned soil staining the hem of Rio’s dress.

“Well?” she asks.

“Well, what?”

“Tell me where you’ve been.”

He shrugs. “I saw Durbe.”

“Is he still --”

“Yeah.”

She has been pressuring Durbe for years to leave his home kingdom and join her court. He is unhappy there. Ryoga is his best friend. His fellow knights torment him and Mach when they are at court, and so Durbe spends most of his time running errands instead of actually using his knighthood.

But Durbe is loyal. He’s always refused.

(It isn’t entirely about Durbe, of course. If Durbe lived with Rio, Ryoga would come home more often. Her two favorite people, in one place.)

Ryoga fidgets.

She could make him tell him every detail of his trip first. He would do it.

She looks around the garden instead. It looks very much like it did when she tended it; most of the plants she chose are still growing. There are new ones growing, too, some she doesn’t even recognize. The beds are neatly kept, and the soil has been tilled recently. The hedge maze has been clipped.

And everything is blooming. The riot of color Rio can see from her bedroom is much more impressive up close; and now she has the scent of the garden in her nose. Her fingers are itching to get down on her knees and start weeding. Flowers of every shape, size and color abound. It’s beautiful.

Perhaps, she thinks idly, she’ll ask for a bouquet. See for herself her new gardener's skill.

If the throne room belongs to the Empress, then this garden belongs to Rio. She can exist here. She can take whatever it is Ryoga is about to deliver.

“Give it to me.”

He pulls a folded sheet of paper out from somewhere beneath his breastplate. She takes it from his hand, and considers opening it then, just to get it over with. But the guards might see, and Ryoga will have questions. She slides it into a secret pocket at her waist, hidden in the drape of the fabric, and feels the weight come off her shoulders.

It’s done.

She inhales deeply. She can smell the roses.

“Thank you.”

“Hmph.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Whatever. It’s done.”

“You’ll come for the festival?” It’s too much to ask him to stay until then. The celebration of Nasch and Merag, the twin sea gods, is still three months away. She and Ryoga were born on the day of the festival. It’s a good omen.

Besides, during the festival there are no masters or servants, no empresses or slaves. The entire kingdom throws off their responsibilities to pray in the morning and revel all night. Violence is forbidden on the day of Nasch and Merag’s festival.

It’s the only day of the year Ryoga can stay here and relax.

He shrugs. She takes that as agreement.

“The garden looks good,” he says.

Rio smiles. “Yes,” she says. “I’ve a new gardener. They seem to know what they’re doing.”

Ryoga sighs. He puts a hand on her shoulder, and Rio can actually hear the clink of weapons as one of her guards starts to draw a weapon.

“Just be careful.” He squeezes her shoulder before he starts to walk away. Despite the swagger, he takes care not to step in any of the flower beds.

Whether he means with her life, or her kingdom, or her heart — the list of marriage prospects she has in her gown could mean any of the three — Rio doesn’t know.

 


	2. osmunda

 Kotori’s new position as Royal Gardener is solitary.

 Otherwise, it’s perfect. There are two things that Kotori loves about being appointed as Gardener To The Empress. The first is the challenge.

 The palace grounds are beautiful, but they are all rigidly designed. The gardens around the palace serve two purposes: either they are kitchen gardens, meant to bring in produce and herbs for cooking and medicine, or they are meant to impress guests. Either way there is no room for creativity, no room to experiment: they look the same. They grow the same hardy, native plants in the same grid patterns, or have carefully allotted plots meant to keep just enough mint and spinach in the pantries.

 They are designed for efficiency, and there is some beauty in that, but Kotori longs for more.

 But the Royal Garden is full of rare, imported plants that require delicate care. There is a hedge maze that Kotori is allowed to redesign at her own discretion. An underwater garden has been begun in the base of the fountain. There are no rules about the way the flower beds have to be laid out, and she has unlimited resources to create bigger and better ones. Her earthcraft, used sparingly on the palace grounds to avoid the resentment of her fellows, can run wild here.

 Maintaining it requires balance: her creativity, always tempered by the intent of the original designer. The Royal Garden requires thought that Kotori could never exercise as one of fifty gardeners maintaining the palace grounds.

 The second thing Kotori appreciates about her new job is the location.

 The garden is close to the palace, just beneath the Empress’s quarters. It’s far from the road. It gets plenty of sunlight and plenty of water.

 And in the evenings Kotori can work in the dark, and look up to the see the Empress leaning against her balcony rail, watching her.

 Moonlight suits her.

 It’s the closest Kotori has ever been to the Empress she serves.

 +++++

 The isolation is getting to her today.

 Kotori stops in with Haru, the Head Gardener, once a week to make sure she’s doing everything correctly. Normally it’s a pleasant visit, and Kotori can partake of Haru’s delicious cooking and steal her latest blend of herbal tea before going on her way.

 This morning she spends too long just trying to find Haru. The grounds are teeming with people; when Kotori finally finds Haru, after enduring hundreds of dark looks and muttered insults from the gardeners she would have called friends before, the old woman is too busy to talk much.

 “Haven’t you heard?” Haru asks. “Lord Tetsuo and Lord Byron’s second son are being received here tonight.”

 “Tetsuo?” Kotori is so shocked she forgets his title. She knows Tetsuo, and he’s certainly not important enough to warrant this kind of reception.

 “They’ve come to court her Imperial Majesty,” Haru says. She shoves a packet of tea into Kotori’s hands. “I’m sorry, dear, but I don’t have time to talk.”

 “Of course,” Kotori says mindlessly. She clutches the packet to her chest. “Excuse me.”

 She walks back to the Royal Garden in the daze. The sunlight is bright and the tea is delicious and sweet. The plants are louder here than they are anywhere else; they know her.

 But it’s still too quiet. No one visits her, no one brings her the news, and no one seems to remember that she didn’t become Royal Gardener just to spite them. Kotori doesn’t think she’s above anyone just because she’s gardening for the Empress now, but…

 …well. She misses home fiercely in this moment. She misses the snow, the mountains, her parents and Yuuma and Tetsuo and Akari, the long winter nights she spent hidden under a blanket with her friends, talking by the moonlight. She misses not being alone, even if the soil up north was never as fertile as the soil here. She misses the soft whisper of the ancient trees, calling out to her from the depth of the woods.

 She closes her eyes and downs the last of the tea. Then Kotori rolls up her sleeves, sheds all but the first layer of her skirts, and puts on her gloves. It’s time to tackle the underwater garden again.

 +++++

 In the darkness, Kotori has to use her earthcraft instead of her eyes to work, and she feels around in the bottom of the fountain while she assembles tomorrow morning’s bouquet in her mind. The Empress will being seeing suitors, so the flowers will have to be appropriate for the occasion -- it will be easier, since Kotori has tried to avoid overtly romantic flowers until now -- but she doesn’t want them to be too simple, either.

 Underwater plants are much harder to hear, and what they do say to her is hard to understand. She can tell where the plants are, and that they’re unhappy in their environment, but everything else is a guessing game. Do they want a deeper pool? Saltier water? Should she add some dirt at the bottom, or some native fish? Wrist deep in the brackish, cold water, Kotori’s mind wanders again. Roses are too much, but perhaps a nice tulip. For that matter, Kotori thinks, she has some lovely ivy climbing the trees around the edges that she could cut. It’s not a traditional choice, but surely someone with the Empress’s refined taste will appreciate Kotori’s attempt at --

 “Excuse me.”

 She turns around.

 Empress Rio is even more radiant in person.

 “Y-your Imperial Majesty!” Kotori scrambles to her feet, horribly aware of the fact she’s still only wearing her overskirt, which doesn’t cover her dirty, bare knees, and curtsies deeply. The dandelions twisted around her bun flop down into her eyes.

 In contrast, the Empress is dressed in pale blue and grey, the neckline daringly low, with pearls at her wrists and throat. She’s holding up her skirt with one hand so that Kotori can see grass tickling her bare ankles, probably to prevent it from getting stained. Her hair is braided and piled atop her head with silk ribbon; in the gloom, her hair and her dress are the same color.

 A moth swoops down and lands on her shoulder. The Empress freezes, rather than screaming, and Kotori feels a rush of respect.

 “How can I be of service?”

 “Your bouquets show promise.” The Empress inclines her head. “I thought you might pick out a flower for my hair.”

 “Of course, your Imperial Majesty,” Kotori whispers. Her heart is pounding, but she straightens up and looks around. “What is the occasion...ah, if you don’t mind me asking!”

 “Tonight the court is welcoming Lord Tetsuo and Lord Arclight.”

 And one of them might be the Empress’s husband. Kotori nods absently, thinking. The flower has to complement the Empress’s dress, but also express something about her. She looks from bed to bed -- the garden is organized in a kind of spiral, with the flower beds curving around the central fountain -- and waits for something to speak to her.

 “This one.”

 Kotori picks up her cutting knife and carefully slices a sprig of bright blue periwinkle, with four or five flowers. It’s just bloomed and still smells sweet.

 “Why?”

 Kotori steps closer to the Empress, so that she can reach her hair. The Empress is taller than Kotori, but not by much; perhaps not at all if Kotori were wearing shoes. She sets the sprig in the Empress’s hair, and blows lightly on it.

 The stem curls, winding around her blue braid, the cut end tucking itself out of sight. The flowers won’t wilt until morning, touched by Kotori’s power.

 They whisper to her that the Empress is cold.

 “You’re an earth mage?”

 Kotori nods. “But I’m not very powerful, your Imperial Majesty.”

 Empress Rio looks around. She appraises the garden. Kotori squirms in place while she stares at every plant, every arrangement, every place Kotori has made a change.

 “...even so. It looks beautiful.”

 “T-thank you!” Kotori curtsies again, deeply. “A blue periwinkle represents the beginning of a friendship, your Imperial Majesty.”

 The Empress is silent.

 “...auspicious.” She touches one soft petal with a fingertip. “You should rest, Kotori.”

 “Of course.”

 Empress Rio smiles. It really is lovely, Kotori thinks.

 “I look forward to seeing my bouquet in the morning, Kotori — and I’ll look at their meanings, too.”

 The Empress walks away, and Kotori stares at the grassy path, her smile huge. She’s been noticed. All those nights the Empress peered down at her, all those arrangements Kotori labored over preparing, have been seen.

 The Empress knows her name. Heart bursting with pride, Kotori sponges the dirt off her arms and legs, slides on a clean white shift, and falls asleep.

 


	3. cedar

When the sun begins to drop in the sky, Kotori always stops whatever she is doing to clean herself up. She brushes her hair, scrapes off the dirt that inevitably ends up all over her, and readjusts whatever plants she’s wearing in place of a hair ribbon. 

Then she waits. The Empress comes by sometimes in the evenings, if she wants a flower to wear to dinner.

Today she’s wearing a deep blue gown, almost black, and pearls around her throat and wrists. Kotori starts thinking of all the white flowers in the garden, lilies and orchids and carnations. She wonders what the occasion is. 

“Hello, your imperial majesty.” Kotori curtsies.

“Kotori.” The Empress inclines her head. She has the most deliberate body language of anyone Kotori has ever met. “I have two particular requests for you.”

“Of course!”

“The Festival of Two is approaching. I thought you could design my crown.”

Kotori blinks. The crown of flowers worn by the Empress during a festival is traditional, a rite that goes back hundreds of years. And the Empress herself is under Merag’s protection — she is a twin, born during the festival — so to be asked to make her crown, the crown that will be seen by every citizen in the capital, immortalized in song and portrait…

“I would be honored,” she manages. Her voice squeaks.

Empress Rio nods. “I enjoy your bouquets. They’re very…interesting.”

“Did you like the southernwood?” Kotori had agonized over whether to include it.

“I did.” Empress Rio raises an eyebrow. “’Jest’?”

Kotori blushes. “You seemed like you needed to laugh.”

There is a silence. Kotori worries that she’s been too forward. Perhaps the Empress is offended…but with all the hubbub in the palace, and the rumors of impending matrimony, she has looked more tired than usual. Kotori sees her on the balcony less often.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, Kotori,” the Empress says. “But thank you. And for my second request…” She gestures to her elaborately braided hair.

Kotori forgets about the white flowers.

Instead, she picks out one of her crossbreeds. If she takes longer to fasten it than she does usually, the Empress pretends not to notice.

“What does this one mean?”

“Nothing, your imperial majesty. I bred it.” Kotori curtsies deeply. “I would be honored if you chose a meaning yourself.”

“Then I’ll think about it.” Is it her imagination, or does the Empress let out a tiny sigh? “Good evening.”

+++++

“You look beautiful tonight,” Lord Tetsuo gushes. His manner is appalling. The way he stares at her makes her a little ill.

She doesn’t want to be beautiful. Beautiful things are plucked and kept on pedestals and seen, not looked at. Beauty is the dullest tool in the hands of an Empress. Powerful, intelligent, even terrifying: those are compliments Rio would find endearing. But she says nothing.

Instead she gives him a strained smile; he won’t notice. Next to him, she can see Thomas trying not to snicker. She remembers she used to be fond of him, before he ruined it by injuring Ryoga and falling in love with her. He doesn’t bother with pointless flattery, and instead has been arguing with her about the current tariff on imports for the past hour.

He’s beginning to wear her down. _Perhaps the tariffs are too high._

“We rely on imports to eat in the southern parts of the empire,” Thomas is saying, “and so —”

“Don’t you think it’s rude to argue with her majesty at dinner?” Lord Tetsuo asks.

“I’m sure she prefers intelligent conversation.”

“There’s nothing intelligent about whining about taxes!” Lord Tetsuo turns red. He takes a deep breath. “Since her imperial majesty has been so kind as to host us, I think we should try and amuse her.”

“By all means,” Thomas says. He gestures expansively for Lord Tetsuo to speak.

“Well…” Lord Tetsuo looks around wildly. “What kind of flower is that in your hair, your majesty? It’s very pretty.”

“It’s a crossbreed bred from wildflowers from the western isles.” Rio touches the petals. They are a vivid orange, and as soft and fresh as they were on the stem, even hours later. Kotori bred this variety herself. She’s quite inventive.

“I don’t know much about flowers,” Lord Tetsuo admits. “But it’s a very ladylike hobby.”

“Is it.”

“And that color suits you!”

“That would be why I chose it, yes.”

This is the fifth private dinner she’s endured with the two of them, along with numerous horseback rides, dances, walks through the grounds, and afternoon teas. It’s beginning to wear on her: the constant sniping at each other, Lord Tetsuo’s total lack of any quality she finds attractive, Thomas staring at her when he think she is distracted.

Luckily, no one would dare correct the Empress’s manners, and so Rio can’t bring herself to try and hold her temper.

“Of course,” Lord Tetsuo says, and then he falls silent.

Thomas smirks, and starts haranguing her about the tariffs again. Rio reaches for her untouched wine and drinks; it’s going to be a very long evening.

+++++

A courier brings her a letter from Ryoga in the morning, disguised as a report on grain production in one of the colonies, and Rio slides it up her sleeve. She waits impatiently for an opportunity to slip away and read it — she is going to write back and give him a verbal thrashing, what was he thinking with his choice of suitor — but she doesn’t get one until late in the afternoon.

She begins the walk back to her quarters, intending to go into one of the unused rooms in her wing for a few minutes, and Lord Tetsuo appears out of nowhere.

“Your imperial majesty,” he says, and he bows deeply before stepping up beside her.

Rio’s disgust is poorly concealed, but he doesn’t leave her be.

“Lord Tetsuo.”

“I must speak with you.”

No one says _I must_ to the Empress of the Poseidon Lands, Rio thinks. Has he forgotten he is her subject? But she remembers Ryoga’s letter — _if you were married, he wouldn’t get in your way_ — and nods.

“Very well.”

He takes one step towards her. Another. A third. He puts his hands on her shoulders — _what the hell is he doing_ — and then he mashes his mouth against hers.

He is pressed against her, heavy and sweaty and too close. He’s getting spit all over her face. One hand paws at her shoulder, at the exposed slice of skin above the neckline of her gown, then his fingers drop against her breast.

Rio throws him off her and he cries out. She is seething with rage and shaking and nauseated. She doesn’t understand why he’s speechless until she looks closely at him. His breath is leaving little clouds in the air.

It’s cold. Rio doesn’t feel it, but Lord Tetsuo squeaks an apology and flees.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, equally enraged and horrified, hand clamped over her mouth. Eventually the hallway warms, and Rio reads Ryoga’s letter (yes, he will see her at the festival) and when a servant asks her about her plans for dinner, she tells them she will dine with the court today. Everyone is invited.

She leaves indents in her palms as she dresses for dinner that evening. She will not be afraid.

+++++

“Hmm…maybe…these two?” Kotori is laboring over the roses, working by moonlight long after she should be in bed. The Empress has asked her to prepare some flowers for her festival crown, and so far nothing in the garden is good enough. It would be easier, Kotori thinks, if Empress Rio weren’t so pretty.

Her face red, she bends down to trim an unruly rose bush. She is thinking about blue roses, and in her distraction she doesn’t see the thorn until it’s buried deep in her palm.

“Ah!” It stings, and blood wells up around the wound. Kotori yanks her hand back painfully and cradles it.

“You should wash that.”

The Empress is standing a few feet away. Kotori tries to curtsy without lifting her skirt, and succeeds only in almost falling over. She clutches her bleeding hand.

“Your Imperial Majesty…good evening…” It’s an unexpected, but not unwelcome surprise.

“Here.” Empress Rio holds out her hands.

It takes a moment for Kotori to understand what she wants. Slowly, she holds out her wounded palm. The Empress produces a clean white handkerchief from the bodice of her dress, dips it in the fountain, and presses it firmly against the wound. It aches, and Kotori tries not to wince.

Empress Rio sighs as she produces a second handkerchief and ties it tightly around Kotori’s hand.

“There.”

“Thank you, your imperial —” Kotori stops at the look on the Empress’s face. Her mouth is twisted in displeasure. “…thank you.”

“It’s late to be working.” She gestures at the greenery around her. “You might at least pick something a little less dangerous to do.”

The corner of her mouth turns up in a tiny smile. Despite herself, Kotori smiles back.

“I’ve been trying to decide what will look best for the festival.”

“Ah.”

Kotori realizes then that the Empress is still holding her hand. She sucks in a breath, but she doesn’t pull back. The sound must give her away; the Empress drops her hand.

“Did you…did you want something?”

“No. I thought I would be alone.”

“…of course.” Suddenly the night feels much colder. Kotori retreats, mumbling apologies, until she is hidden from sight behind a hedge. She should go up to the cabin, and stay there. She’s tired. The Empress will want her privacy.

_But it’s not like her at all…_

Kotori shuts her eyes tightly, sits down in the dirt, and listens.

At first there is only silence.

Crickets chirp. The fountain bubbles. Guilt rolls in Kotori’s stomach.

There is a very quiet sob from the other side of the hedge.

She gets up.

Empress Rio is sitting on the one bench in the rose garden, shoulders hunched and shaking. There is a crumpled sheet of paper sitting on the bench beside her. The flower over her ear is wilting; Kotori can feel it fading.

Perhaps she should go away.

Kotori climbs the hedge.

She comes to stand behind her.

“Empress Rio?”

“What?”

Kotori sits down on the bench beside her. She’s nervous, but she doesn’t realize how much so until she sees that all the grass near her feet is bending towards her. Calm, she thinks. She picks up the crumpled sheet of paper.

“Is something…wrong?”

The Empress looks at her. Her eyes are huge and wet and red. She opens her mouth, then closes it.

Kotori reaches out, very slowly, so that the Empress can tell her if she’s overstepping herself. She takes one of her hands.

Empress Rio’s hands are cold.

“Nothing is wrong.” The Empress leaves her hands as they are. “I…I am conflicted.”

Kotori squeezes her hand. “About what?”

She says nothing at first. She looks out into the distance. Kotori concentrates on the flower in her hair, the one that’s dying; it glows as it perks up, the petals unfurling again.

“Ah…I know it’s not my place, but if you’re upset, I’d like to help.” Kotori leans in closer. “Because you’ve been so kind to me, I want to return the favor. Even if I’m only a —”

“You aren’t _only_ anything, Kotori,” the Empress says fiercely. She fixes her gaze on Kotori.

Kotori ducks her head, feeling a burst of warmth in her chest. “Thank you.”

Empress Rio sucks in a loud breath. She runs her thumb absently over the back of Kotori’s hand. 

“The things that would please me and the things that are best for this empire are not always that same.” She shrugs. “Some sacrifices are more difficult to make than others.”

It’s a heavy statement, and Kotori can’t think of anything to say. She has never had to make a decision half as difficult as she imagines the Empress must make everyday. Her life has been mostly easy; she grew up with parents who ran an apothecary, came to palace on the recommendation of a local mage for an apprenticeship in improving her earthcraft, and became a palace gardener because she enjoyed it. She misses her family and friends, of course, but she consoles herself by reminding herself that they, too, have their own lives.

But it must be very lonely to be the Empress of the Poseidon Lands. It strikes Kotori that what the Empress must need from her isn’t good advice, but comfort.

“The Poseidon Lands depend on you, Empress.” Kotori smiles. “So taking care of yourself is also serving the empire, in a way.”

The Empress doesn’t respond. She looks rather melancholy, even as she wipes at her eyes with her free hand and sits up straighter.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Kotori whispers.

“I supposed crying in my garden does no good.”

The Empress already looks more composed. It’s as if she’s put on a mask, and Kotori doesn’t know whether she feels relieved or saddened to see it. This is the Empress she knows.

“Wait here.” Kotori gets up and goes across the garden to her cabin. It’s dark in there, and she fumbles with the curtains before pawing through her workstation by the moonlight. When she finds what she is looking for, she rushes back out, heedless of the mess left behind.

She flops down on the bench. She’s breathing surprisingly hard.

“Here.” She drops a package wrapped in rough fabric in her hands. “It’s a tea. It’ll help you sleep.”

The Empress makes the package disappear up one of her wide, bell-shaped sleeves. She stands up and brushes a strand of hair that has fallen down behind her ear. She nods at Kotori.

“Good night,” she says. She inclines her head. “That flower you bred for me. I think it should mean ‘anger’.”

And then she is gone, up the path, through the door in the palace wall, out of sight.

Kotori sits there for a long time, watching nothing. Then she shakes her head at herself — she’s being silly — and goes to bed.

 


	4. nightshades

The next morning, exhausted, Kotori drags herself out of her and out of the Royal Garden in search of Lord Tetsuo.

She knows he’s involved — there are rumors buzzing in the palace gardens that he did something mortally offensive to the Empress — and she has to know how. She remembers him from when they were children. In the smaller villages and estates, the children of nobles could mingle more freely with the common folk. And Tetsuo, like most of the children in their village, had been drawn to Yuuma and eager to befriend him.

She sighs to herself as she stalks the palace hallways. If Yuuma were here, she thinks, it might be easier to confront him. Yuuma is good at making people feel disappointed in themselves.

Kotori has to sneak into a wing of the palace she certainly should not be in, and on one hairy occasion hide in a large, decorative vase until the maids have passed, but eventually she hears Tetsuo’s voice pass by her. She straightens up, tries to look like she knows where she’s going, and follows.

Luckily, there’s no one around when she grabs the door and follows him into his bedroom.

“Kotori!”

She slaps him.

“Ow! What was that?”

“What did you do, Tetsuo? Everyone is saying you insulted the Empress!” Kotori is flushed, her teeth set, as she remembered the way the Empress cried.

“I don’t know!” He grabs her by the shoulders. Kotori yelps. “You have to help me, Kotori. I love her.”

“Y-you do?” Of course he does. Who wouldn’t, Kotori thinks. “Well, what happened?”

“I kissed her.” Tetsuo shrugs. “She didn’t like it.”

“You can’t just go around kissing people!”

“I know she’s an Empress! But she’s the most beautiful woman in the world!”

“Being an Empress has nothing to do with it,” Kotori grumbles. Men can be so stupid about things like this. She misses Yuuma even more.

Help Tetsuo woo the Empress. The idea bothers her, but she can’t pinpoint why. And Tetsuo is her friend. He needs her. There’s no reason she can’t advise him, right?

No reason at all, but Kotori doesn’t want Tetsuo to become the Empress’s husband. That would be one more person Kotori will have to share her with. Tetsuo, Kotori thinks with sudden fierceness, is her rival.

 _Oh,_ Kotori realizes. _Oh. I love her._

She could have been married by now, with children, but Kotori didn’t want those things, became a gardener in part to escape them. It would be different, though, with the Empress --

“Kotori?”

“I have to go!” She gets up, smooths her dress. She should step and help him, be a good friend, but her heart is pounding. She can’t.

She runs. She doesn’t stop until she’s back in the gardens, alone, and then she weeds the rose garden without gloves as penance.

By sunset her arms are covered in tiny bleeding wounds. Kotori is grateful when that night, the Empress does not come.

+++++

The Festival of Two takes up most of Rio’s time over the next two weeks, between the extended meditations she performs in the temple, the planning of the celebrations, and of course, Lord Tetsuo and Thomas at her heels the entire time.

Thomas, at least, Rio puts to work. He’s planned enough events to be useful. Lord Tetsuo, on the other hand, is overwhelmed and not particularly knowledgeable about her religion, and mostly he stares at her and asks questions and looks baffled.

She tries to remind herself that he is young, inexperience, and means no harm. Her skin still crawls whenever he’s near. He apologized to her — Rio overheard Thomas laying into him about it — but she isn’t impressed by his excuses. Overwhelmed by passion or not, he had no right to touch her.

She makes herself ignore all the rage and disgust inside herself. She makes herself ignore the way her heart clenches when she retires in the evenings, and sees that Kotori has gone to bed.

Rio devotes herself to the work. It will pay off, she tells herself. The Festival of Twos is the only night of the year she is truly free.

But at night, when she lies awake in bed, she drinks the tea Kotori gave her and wonders.

What will happen to her in the future? She can’t keep putting off her decision. As she told Ryoga when she sent him off on his mission, she needs a husband

Find me one, she told him. He had. Now she has to decide.

 _But I don’t want either of them,_ she thinks. _I’ve never wanted them, or anyone. I don’t want…_

And she shudders. The inevitable is looming up before her. At least Kotori’s tea keeps away the bad dreams.

+++++

Kotori works for weeks in a haze.

It seems that nothing can hold her attention; not the plants singing in the breeze, not the weeds or the overgrown hedges, not the leak in the fountain, not the way her stomach rumbles after her third missed lunch. She gardens on muscle memory alone.

She can’t think of anything or anyone but Empress Rio, and yet Empress RIo does not come to see her. And if she did visit, what would Kotori say to her? She is an Empress and Kotori is her servant. And they are both women. She doesn’t know how she can face the Empress.

If she looks at Kotori, and she somehow knows, Kotori will probably end up shipped back to her home village before she can blink.

That is probably for the best, but oh, Kotori doesn’t want that.

Behind as she is on her duties, she ends up staying up late into the night to work two nights before the Festival begins. She is supposed to present the Empress with the flower crown tomorrow, and it remains unfinished. Nothing seems good enough for the Empress to wear on such an important day.

She is looking for some blooming yarrow when she hears the Empress speak.

“Kotori.”

“Your imperial majesty.” Kotori curtsies deeply, head bent to hide her expression.

The Empress stops only a few steps away from her. Kotori swears she can smell her perfume from here. She doesn’t dare look at her.

“How are you?”

“Very well, your majesty.”

“I look forward to seeing my crown tomorrow.”

“I hope it will please you, your majesty.”

There is rustling; Kotori can see the Empress’s skirt move as she walks. It’s a pale grey today, the color of clouds when it rains. Kotori sent up a yellow rose for her hair with the morning bouquet; she can sense it still, so the Empress must be wearing it.

“Isn’t it a nice night?”

“As you say.”

Kotori dares to look up. Empress Rio’s mouth is turned down, her forehead furrowed. She is displeased. Oh.

She says nothing more, just goes back to staring at the dirt and listening to the garden sleep and waiting.

“…is something wrong?”

Kotori despairs. She has to say something before the Empress suspects. She feels as if her feelings are written all over her.

“Your majesty, I…I think you should marry Lord Tetsuo!”

“ _What?_ ”

 _No, I take it back._ That’s what she should say.

“We’re childhood friends, and he came to me for advice. I know he behaved badly, and hurt you…but please consider him all the same. He doesn’t care about the throne, or money or…I mean, he cares for you…”

It is suddenly very cold. Kotori winces as plants around her start to frost. Her hands begin to go numb, and she fists them in her skirt as cold grass nips at her bare ankles and feet.

Empress Rio is an ice mage.

“I see.” It sounds like her teeth are grit. “Return to your duties.”

“Yes, your imperial majesty,” Kotori whispers. Tears are pricking at the corners of her eyes. She’s made a terrible mistake, and now there’s no way of correcting it.

The Empress’s skirts brush across the the frozen grass loudly as she walks away. The chill lingers long after she is gone.

Kotori sinks down to her knees. She remains there for a long time.

+++++

Rio is too angry to sleep, so she wanders the palace instead, cloak pulled up over her face as a disguise. She replays her conversation with Kotori over and over again, looking for…for warmth, maybe. Kindness. The qualities that had made her such a wonderful companion.

And instead, tonight, she was cold, formal, and she advised Rio to…to…Rio shudders.

Ridiculous, that anyone could prefer Tetsuo to Kotori —

“Oh,” Rio says. “Oh.” _I love her._

Of course she does. It’s the family curse, isn’t it — first her brother and Durbe, and now Rio and her gardener — that they always do fall for people they cannot have, and should not love. And Rio has no heirs to inherit the throne, that she can cast aside all duty and pursue her heart.

But Kotori’s eyes, bright when she smiled, and her hands, callused from work and warm, and precise as they twisted the stem of a flower around her ear…

She swallows, hard. Much of the last few weeks makes sense to her now.

Then it occurs to her that perhaps Kotori knows, perhaps Rio gave herself away without even knowing it, and that’s why the poor girl is so withdrawn. No doubt she is trying to protect herself.

As if Rio would hurt her, ever. As if she isn’t perhaps the only person besides Ryoga Rio treasures.

Rio hates herself, and her country, and her father for a few brief moments. Then, before she can think rationally about it, she starts walking.

She stops outside Thomas’s suite. She knocks, twice, loudly. She waits impatiently while he comes to the door.

“Rio? What —”

“Marry me,” she orders, and the look on his face is utterly satisfying.

“I knew you would choose me,” he begins, and she cuts him off by pushing him backwards and slamming the door in his face. Her heart is pounding as it registers that she just agreed to marry Thomas, that she is going to be a wife, and she is going to need an heir, and she is going to have to…perform.

It is only through sheer stubbornness that she makes it back to her own bedroom before she vomits.


	5. red chrysanthemum

 

The day before the Festival of Two, the palace is in a frenzy. Kotori has never been so grateful that no one works on the day of the Festival; it means that for now, she has no time to worry or mourn. She is conscripted by Haru to assist in the decorations, and spends the morning and the afternoon out in the hot sun, using her powers to breathe life into wreathes and garlands, coaxing vines to wind themselves around tent poles, kissing fruit to make it ripen.

 

There is chatter about an ice sculpture being made by the Empress in the ballroom, but when the others slip off to see it, Kotori remains behind, gobbling down her lunch alone.

 

But then there is the crown.

 

Kotori has to finish it. 

 

She has the base, made from willow and oak twigs, but she is still deliberating over the flowers. She wants the crown to reflect Empress Rio’s power, and grace, and yet…she longs to make it personal. To show the Empress as a human being, as a woman, on this one day when there are no masters or servants, on this one day when they all stand equal before the twin gods.

 

She should restrain herself. 

 

Kotori sighs, deeply, and decides to be reckless.

 

She winds white lilac, first; they are bunches of small white flowers, with a faint scent. Beautiful, but restrained, to match the Empress’s traditional white gown. Then she adds nightshades, vivid purple ones, each a different shape; the petals of these are poisonous, if eaten. Osmunda, the fern, does not truly flower; she snaps off the fronds and adds them in the center of each bundle of lilac. One of the old trees of the palace garden, planted by some ancient royal lady, is flowering. Kotori climbs the cedar to get the flowers; they are small, pale purple, and smell divine.

 

She hesitates, then adds one red chrysanthemum. It is her own, grown from seeds she brought all the way from her home village and her childhood garden. She had meant them to be a gift to the Empress, a sign of Kotori’s gratitude to her.

 

She runs her fingers over all the petals, wishing with all her might they will stay soft and fragrant and upright until the Festival is over. Then she puts the crown on the ceremonial tray and goes to dress.

 

Her dress is pink and green, every layer sheer; the bodice is lined, but the skirt is only decent due to the number of layers. Kotori twines a snowdrop around her bun for hope. Then she picks up the tray and starts walking.

 

Somewhere, the going is ringing. People rush past her to take their places in the ceremony, but Kotori walks at her own speed. She is terribly nervous, and yet she cannot help but imagine the Empress’s reaction to her crown, if it is favorable.

 

The moon is rising, full and white in the sky. Kotori asks for Merag’s blessings.

 

+++++

 

Rio slams into Ryoga on her way to her room, to dress for the festival. She is alone, because the celebrations for the Festival are reaching their final, feverish pitch, and she is grateful for it. Finally, someone who will understand her.

 

“Ryoga!”

 

“Watch where you’re going,” he grumbles, but he accepts her hug without complaint. “What?”

 

“First of all.” Rio punches him in the shoulder. He’s taken off his armor and changed into a tunic, and he winces. “Your Lord Tetsuo assaulted me.”

 

“What.” His hand goes to his weapon, and Rio grabs his arm to head him off. “I’ll kill him!”

 

“No, you will not, because I —” Rio looks around to make sure no one is listening. Thomas has remained silent about their conversation, and she hopes he keeps that way until she figures out what she needs to do. “I told Thomas I would marry him.”

 

“You did?” Ryoga scowls. “Tch.”

 

Then he looks at her, and sees right through her.

 

“What is it?”

 

“It’s — nothing.” Rio looks down. “I’ve fallen in love.”

 

“…oh.” Ryoga puts his hand, tentatively, on her shoulder. “Are they…”

 

They, he says. He does know her. Rio shakes her head. 

 

“Ryoga,” she asks, “what is it like to…to want someone?”

 

She waits while he catches her meaning, and blushes, and looks uncomfortable, and finally gets up the courage to answer her question. It sometimes baffles her that he survived battle when he’s this easy to put off-balance. 

 

“I-I don’t know. It just is.” He hesitates. “Why are you asking me —”

 

“I can’t get married. I can’t — do what a wife should do.” 

 

She’s clenching her fists so hard she’s bleeding from one palm.

 

Ryoga doesn’t say anything. She waits, and he remains irritatingly silent. 

 

“Well?”

 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks. “You can’t be Empress if you don’t at least pretend to be — like them.”

 

At least he doesn’t say ‘normal’. 

 

“How did you — with Durbe…?”

 

Ryoga’s mouth twists in fury. She can see his teeth, slightly pointed, as he growls out a reply.

 

“There was never anything between us! I never even — “ He stops. Whatever it is he was going to say, Rio realizes, it’s too painful to voice. “I would never have disappointed Father that way.”

 

Rio opens her mouth, then closes it again. She has always believed there was some truth to the rumors of Durbe and Ryoga’s affair. Ryoga never said anything, but she had assumed, if her father believed it, there had to be a reason. 

 

And now she knows differently. Which means —

 

“Then you could have a child.” She latches onto him. “Please. That would leave me a heir!”

 

“I can’t,” he hisses back. “I don’t —”

 

She has no right to be disappointed, no right to even ask this of him. Ryoga has always done what she asked, even though his life in this kingdom is over, even though he is in pain every time he returns. She should let him go.

 

But oh, just this one thing, and Rio could be free. 

 

“Why not? I’ve done everything else, haven’t? You could at least fulfill one of your responsibilities!”

 

Something explodes. 

 

One of the vases, filled with water and flowers, is lying on the hallway floor in pieces, destroyed by Ryoga’s watercraft.

 

“Fuck you, Rio,” Ryoga snaps. He has said that to her before; this is the first time he has meant it. “You never even canceled the execution order on my head!”

 

Politics. She’d left that order standing because of politics for years. The words go round and round Rio’s head.

 

The pieces of the vase are smashed underfoot as Ryoga walks away.

 

+++++

 

The Empress is late to the ceremony.

 

The whispers of the crowd drown out the crickets and the sound of the ocean as they wait. Kotori is kneeling in front of the Empress’s wooden throne on the palace lawn, waiting; once she’s crowned the Empress, they’ll burn the throne, and the Festival will begin. 

 

The flowers can sense her anxiety, and she has to keep nudging them back into place on the crown. Kotori focuses on counting all the blades of grass beneath her knees, feeling each with her power, trying not to think of frozen grass that is still dead in the Royal Garden, or the Empress’s ice cold face.

 

She wants to run away, but she won’t. She owes the Empress this much.

 

Tetsuo and Lord Arclight are guests on honor, standing in the crowd of nobles. Tetsuo looks uncomfortable; Lord Arclight looks distracted. Haru is hissing last minute instructions at some of the girls. The anticipation is thick in the air.

 

And then she arrives.

 

The Empress could be the Goddess Merag herself, Kotori thinks, dressed in white and gold, her pale stomach and limbs luminous in the moonlight, her steps soft and quiet as she moves towards the throne. The breeze catches a strand of hair that’s come loose, and Kotori’s fingers twitch with the desire to touch it. 

 

Empress Rio takes her place on the throne. 

 

The musicians begin to play. The priestesses begin to sing.

 

Kotori lifts the crown. She has to stand over the Empress — see the top of her head, for the first time — to lay the crown on her head. Empress Rio looks up at her. 

 

Kotori mouths, “I’m sorry.” And then she crowns the Empress. The music speeds up. Someone yanks her backwards, into the throng of revelers, and the last thing Kotori sees is Empress Rio’s silhouette against the burning throne, one hand stretched out towards her.

 

+++++

 

Eventually, Rio finds her way to the Royal Garden. 

 

There’s no hurry. She takes the long route across the grounds, enjoying her anonymity, breathing in the scent of the flowers. It’s a beautiful crown. A perfect crown.

 

Kotori’s crown. Rio smiles to herself as she walks. She’s been studying her flower language.

 

When she enters, everything is in full bloom. It’s beautiful, except for the rose garden, which is still damaged by Rio’s brief loss of control. She stops to examine the brown, limp grass, and that is when Kotori appears.

 

She’s sitting on the edge of the fountain. Her head is tilted back; her eyes are closed. She’s more beautiful than the starry sky, more beautiful than any of flowers in this garden, more beautiful than anything or anyone Rio knows. She looks like an earth goddess of old, come to life.

 

Rio approaches her without making a sound.

 

She stands over her, admiring her, and then sits down beside her on the marble rim of the fountain.

 

“May the moon in the sky smile down on you.”

 

Kotori jumps and nearly falls back into the fountain. Rio catches her, and sets her upright. The contact makes her arm tingle. Kotori smooths her hair.

 

“M-may the depths of ocean know your name.”

 

“It’s a lovely night.”

 

“It is.” Kotori sighs, and tilts her head back again. “I can hear all the flowers singing. They celebrate, too.”

 

“My brother used to say that, about the fish.”

 

“That’s amazing,” Kotori says. She smiles.

 

A smile comes unbidden to Rio’s face. She mirrors Kotori’s pose.

 

“So is this crown of flowers.”

 

“…I’m glad.”

 

Kotori is looking at her out of the corner of her eye, pretending nonchalance. On another day Rio would leave it at that. But this is the night where she can not be an Empress. This is a night where she can be indiscreet.

 

“I thought,” Rio says, “you might explain all the meanings of the flowers to me.”

 

Kotori swallows so loudly Rio hears. But she scoots over, so close their thighs are almost touching, and she nods. Her hand is on her knee.

 

Without looking down, Rio lays her hand on top of Kotori’s.

 

“The white lilac is for majesty. I didn’t want to pick a flower that said ‘royalty’, but I wanted to show how…how graceful and restrained you are…”

 

“I appreciate the compliment.”

 

Kotori moves closer. Her leg is touching Rio’s.

 

“The nightshades are for truth. Because the last time we spoke, I lied to you.”

 

Rio squeezes her hand.

 

“I don’t really think you should marry Tetsuo at all.”

 

“Go on,” Rio whispers.

 

“The osmunda is for dreams, and the cedar flowers are for strength. The osmunda to remind you to take care of yourself, and the cedar to give you the strength to do it.”

 

“It’s like poetry,” Rio says. Now she turns to look at Kotori; they’re so close that she can feel Kotori’s breath on her skin. Kotori’s eyes are wide, and dark, and not afraid. “But you forgot one.”

 

There is a long silence. They look at each other, and time stops, or speeds up, Rio doesn’t know. She cares for nothing, in this moment, but Kotori’s attention. She forgets about her quarrel with Ryoga, her impending wedding, her entire life. For a moment, she is just a woman.

 

A woman waiting to hear the right words.

 

“The red chrysanthemum stands for love, Empress,” Kotori says, and she blushes.

 

Rio cups her cheek with her free hand. 

 

“Call me Rio,” she says, and she leans in for a kiss.


End file.
